Everything For a Reason
by laynee
Summary: Sam, 12; Dean, 16; Sam is home sick while John and Dean go out on a hunt. It should have been easy, but Sam ends up part of the hunt whether he intended to or not. Sick/Hurt Sam; Hurt Dean; good dad John
1. Home

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

Sam, 12; Dean, 16.

/\-s-/\

Sam darted from the front door as the bus honked outside. Dean was right behind him and passed him as they ran across the front yard. The bus doors closed a second after Sam jumped on. He found an empty seat and moved in towards the window. Dean slumped into a back seat as the buss pulled away.

Sam was let off first and met up with his friends by the front doors. Dean watched his brother from the window with a smirk on his face.

Sam first noticed his stomach ache after gym class. He thought that maybe he just ran too much, but it kept getting worse through math. By English, he could hardly pay attention to anything else. He rested his forehead on his open book.

"Sam?"

He looked up at Mrs. Thompson. She was in her mid thirties and treated every student like they were individually special. She had taken notice of how bright Sam was, of how hard he worked. He liked her.

"Are you all right?"

He automatically nodded and then replaced the action with a shrug.

She knelt down next to his desk. "Do you want to go down and see the nurse?"

He shrugged again. "I'm all right." He whispered and swallowed.

She noticed how pale he was and the sweat that made his bangs stick to his forehead.

"Sam." She met his eyes and smiled. "Why don't go sit in the nurse's office for a little bit and see if you feel better. You're ahead by a couple of days, you won't miss anything."

He nodded and shoved his book in his backpack and stood. He staggered a little as he left the room. Mrs. Thompson wanted to follow him down the hall, but she had the class to take care of. She'd call the nurse in a few minutes to make sure that he made it all right.

Sam slowly walked down the hall. He was beginning to think that maybe going down to the nurse wasn't such a bad idea after all. He paused in front of the nurse's office and took a breath. He knocked on the open door and stepped inside.

Nurse Johnson was very good at her job and loved working with children. She had soft brown hair and glasses. She was on the phone and smiled at Sam when he walked in.

"He just came in." She hung up the phone.

Sam kept his eyes on the floor and swallowed.

"Mrs. Thompson said you weren't feeling well." She gently rested her hand on his shoulder and guided him to a chair.

He shrugged and sat down.

"What's going on?"

He glanced up. "My stomach sort of hurts."

"All right." She smiled again and took his temperature. "You have a little bit of a temperature, do you want me to call your dad?"

"No."

She looked at him for a few seconds, Sam didn't notice. "Okay. Why don't you lay down for a little bit and see if you feel better."

"I'm okay here." Sam muttered.

A girl came into the office with her finger wrapped in a blood soaked paper towel. Nurse Johnson glanced back at Sam before she went to help the girl. Sam leaned his head back against the wall and took slow breaths to try and calm his stomach. If he could make it through the day, then everything would be all right.

The girl with the cut finger left with a giant bandaid on her hand and a bag of ice. Sam watched her leave and wished it was that easy for him. His stomach clenched and he swallowed. He stood and ducked into the small bathroom that was connected to the room. He dropped to one knee and vomited. He coughed and spit and waited, not sure that everything was said and done.

"Sam."

He glanced back and saw nurse Johnson behind him. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but figured the fever would cover some of it.

She handed him a paper cup of water. "Rinse, but don't swallow."

He swished the water in his mouth before he spit it into the toilet and flushed. He sat back against the wall and brought his knees up.

"I'm going to go call your dad."

Sam looked up at her. "Do you have to?"

She smiled a little. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll just call him and let him know, I won't call him to come pick you up. All right?"

Sam nodded and felt his stomach churn again. She left the small bathroom and Sam heard her picked up the phone. He gave into the nausea again and leaned over the toilet as he vomited. His throat burned from the effort and his already sore stomach was increased. Maybe waiting until the end of the day wasn't such a good idea.

Gentle hands pressed a cup of water into his hands. He rinsed again. Those same hands helped him up off the floor and over to a cot. A garbage can was placed near his head and he curled on his side.

He hadn't realized he fell asleep until a rough hand gently rested on his forehead. He opened his eyes and groaned as he body realized it was awake and still sick.

"Easy." John's voice was quiet, low.

Sam looked up at him. "I'm sorry, dad."

"It's okay. Let's get you home."

John helped his son stand and put an arm around the boy's shoulders to steady him. Sam let himself be led down the hall without paying much attention to anything other than not vomiting again.

John eased Sam into the front seat of the car and walked around to the driver's side. Sam leaend his head against the window as the car pulled away.

"You feel all right this morning?" John glanced over.

"Yeah." Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. "I didn't want them to call you."

John smiled a little. "She said that."

"I would have stayed until the end of the day." He muttered.

"I don't mind picking you up, Sammy."

Sam winced and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"Need me to stop?"

"I'm okay." Sam breathed.

John drove slower, his turns and stops gentler. He pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Sam pushed open the door and stumbled from the car. By the time John had gotten round to him, Sam was on his knees as his stomach tried to make him vomit something that wasn't there.

John rested one hand on his son's shoulder and the other on his forehead. Sam shook from the effort, from the illness. After a few minutes he drew a shuddering breath and sat back on his heels.

"Let's get you upstairs and in bed." John eased Sam up to his feet.

He guided his youngest through the house and up to the room he shared with Dean. Sam couldn't remember his bed ever feeling so good before. John dug some clean pajamas from the dresser as Sam pulled off his shoes. John stepped out of the room so Sam could change.

Sam was half asleep when John returned with a glass of water. He pulled the trashcan over near the bed and sat down in a chair. He handed Sam the thermometer.

"How are you feeling?"

Sam shrugged. John took the thermometer from him and read the number, a little high, but nothing to be worried about.

He rested his hand on Sam's head. "Get some sleep. I'll be around if you need anything."

He stood and was at the door when Sam spoke.

"Dad." He shifted under the blanket. "I'm sorry you had to come and get me."

"I'm not. Don't worry about it." He waited until he was sure that his son was asleep.


	2. Preparation

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

/\-s-/\

John sat at the kitchen table. He had a gun taken apart and half cleaned in front of him. He kept an ear out for Sam. His boy had gotten up once since he had come home, John was there in a second.

"Dad?" Sam's voice timidly carried down the stairs.

John stood and went up stairs. He wasn't surprised to find Sam in the bathroom. The boy sat on the edge of the bathtub, his shirt was crumpled in a corner.

John rested his hand on Sam's forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Could you get me another shirt, I…" His voice was low and rough.

"It's all right." He squeezed Sam's shoulder and stepped out of the room.

Sam shakily stood and turned on the water in the sink. He cupped water onto his face and sat back down on the edge of the bathtub. He leaned forward with his elbows rested on his knees.

John came back in and sat next to his boy. Sam pulled on the shirt he was handed.

"Thanks." He muttered.

Sam stood and wavered a little. John gripped his shoulder to steady him and guided him back to bed. He slid under the blankets and John brushed Sam's hair back.

"Get some more sleep." John slipped from the room after Sam had fallen back asleep.

Dean came home from school and burst into the house. "Dad, Sam wasn't on the bus, I'm going out to look for him." He dropped his backpack on his way through the kitchen.

John grabbed Dean's arm before he could get much farther. "Sam's upstairs."

Dean stopped and John let go of his arm. "Is he all right?"

"He has the stomach flu, the school called because he was sick. I picked him up a little after eleven." John turned back to the gun.

Dean started towards the stairs.

"Dean. He's all right, let him be if he's asleep." He glanced up at Dean.

"I just want to make sure."

"Dean, come here."

Dean reluctantly sat down across the table form his dad.

"You know that we have a hunt tonight." John kept talking as Dean tried to interrupt. "And you know that you have to think of that. Your brother's okay, I wouldn't tell you he was if it wasn't true."

"I know." Dean nodded.

"He's fine now, and he'll be fine here tonight. Got it?"

"Yeah." He stood. "I'm gonna go check on him." Dean silently took the stairs two at a time.

John smiled a little and shook his head a she turned back to the gun he was cleaning.

Dean paused in the doorway and looked in at Sam. He was asleep, the blanket tangled around his legs and one arm hanging over the side. His cheeks were flushed and his hair damp from sweat. Dean slipped into the room and sat on the chair nearby.

Sam shifted and moaned slightly in his sleep. Dean reached forward and rested his hand against his little brother's forehead. Sam calmed and his breath evened out in sleep. Dean brushed Sam's hair back and leaned back in the chair.

John stood in the doorway and watched his son's for a while.

He hated to interrupt, but there was work to be done. "Dean." He kept his voice low so not to wake Sam. "Help me get everything ready for tonight."

Dean stood, glanced back at Sam once and then followed John out of the room.

John and Dean sat at the kitchen table. Guns, knives and notes were spread across the table. From what they could find, a warewolf had been active in the woods near the town. It was a full moon that night, and John and Dean's chance to keep someone else from becoming a victim.

The hours moved steadily towards night. They packed what they needed and loaded it in the car. Sam had been asleep since he came home from school. He still had a slight fever, but other than that he seemed to be better.

John slipped into Sam's room with Dean behind him. John sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on his son's forehead to check the fever. Sam's eyes opened and he shifted under the blankets.

"How are you feeling?" John took the glass of water from the nightstand.

Sam sat up a little and took the glass he was handed. "I don't know, about the same I guess." He took a slow drink.

Dean sat in the chair. "I would have cut school with you if you had asked."

Sam smiled a little. His stomach was still unsettled and he was a little dizzy.

John returned the glass to the table. "Sam, Dean and I have to go out tonight."

"I know, the warewolf. Wish I could help."

"You're staying here. Just sleep some more. There's soup in the fridge for you if you get hungry."

Sam nodded and rested his arm across his stomach.

John placed a revolver under the bedside table. "It's loaded with silver, in case you need it. There's salt lines on the windows and doors, a container of salt next to the gun."

"Did the salt lines myself." Dean added.

Sam glanced over at him. "Then I'd better fix them." He smirked.

"When you feel better, I'm gonna kick your ass." Dean smiled.

John stood. "Call if you need anything. You'll be okay?"

Sam nodded and slid back under the blankets.

"Make sure you're drinking enough." John added before he stepped out of the room.

Dean paused. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah. Don't worry." He smiled. "See you tomorrow."

Dean slipped out of the room as Sam closed his eyes. Sam heard the footsteps of his father and brother, he heard the front door close and then there was only silence. He rolled onto his back to try and find a position comfortable enough to go back to sleep. Now that he was awake, his stomach was making itself known again.

With a groan he pushed himself out of bed and stood. The room shifted a little bit as dizziness played with his equilibrium. He walked to the bathroom down the hall and sat on the floor. The movement increased his nausea and stomachache. He leaned back against the wall and willed himself not to throw up again.

It didn't take John and Dean too long to trade the houses for trees. The woods pressed in on the town on all sides, making it perfect for something like a warewolf to move from residential to rural in seconds. John parked the car just off the dirt road. He and Dean unloaded what the needed from the trunk and set off into the darkening forest.

"Hey, Dad." Dean kept his voice near a whisper. "You think Sammy's all right?"

"Keep your head in the hunt, Dean." John scolded. "He's fine."

Dean took a breath and focused back on the hunt. The woods were quiet, normal. That was the exact opposite of how they should have been with a warewolf stalking thorugh the darkness.

Sam didn't vomit, and after nearly a half hour on the cool bathroom floor, he felt confidant enough to return to bed. Wearily he dropped onto the mattress and pulled the blankets over himself. He shivered a little and buried his head in the pillow. Walking had made his stomach feel unsettled again, but the crippling nausea hadn't returned full force. He took a slow drink. Exhausted from being sick, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

The warewolf hadn't gotten to the forest yet. It slunk in and out of the shadows of the houses. It was hungry, but it also knew that hunting took time. It paused as it caught a scent that it wanted and started towards the house.


	3. Fight

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

/\-s-/\

John and Dean were staked out near a rock ledge. They had placed the bait, a freshly killed deer, a few yards away. Both were ready, their guns aimed, and just waited. Every twig that snapped drew their attention, no other thoughts besides the hunt were in their minds.

Sam woke to a thump and crack at the window. He slowly sat up and looked out towards the night. A crack in the glass drew his attention. Had it always been there? A dark shape moved outside on the porch roof. His breath quickened and he could hear his heart pound in his ears. His stomach tightened from anxiety and he winced slightly.

The dark shape pressed itself against the glass for a moment. Sam caught a brief glimpse of teeth and burning amber eyes before it was gone again. Had he been any other boy, he would have assumed it was from him being sick, his fever, a shadow, his imagination, anything. Being John's boy, he reached for the gun and salt under the table and slowly slipped out of bed.

The beast outside threw itself at the window. Glass shattered and covered the floor in deadly glitter. Sam scrambled from the bed. His hand shook as he aimed the gun at the window. As long as the salt lines held, he'd be okay, as long as the... A gust of wind blew through the broken window and scattered the careful line of salt. His breath caught in his lungs.

Sam raced for the door as something pounced on him from behind. He managed to roll onto his back and looked up into the hungry eyes of the warewolf. He brought his arm up to cover his face as the warewolf swiped at him, playing with him before it ate. Sam felt claws rip into his arm. Despite the pain and fear, he brought the gun up and fired.

The sound echoed in his head and he realized how much his head hurt. The warewolf was gone, it fled the moment hot silver ripped into its chest. Sam crawled to the closet and poured a line of salt around the door. He closed the door and shook from fear in the darkness. He reached to his pocket for the cell phone, but remembered that he was in pajama pants and the phone was on the bedside table. He wasn't sure that he'd even be able to dial because he was shaking so hard.

His stomach hurt from being scared and from moving. Blood ran from his arm, he could feel it as it ran from his elbow. He grabbed a dirty shirt from the floor and wrapped it around his arm. Silent tears ran down his cheeks as he shook from fear, made worse by the fact that he was still sick. He sat with the gun resting on his knee, aimed at the door. He whimpered as the pain in his arm and stomach increased as the adrenaline faded from his exhausted body. His head throbbed with the increased beat of his heart. He focused on breathing, in not vomiting, on staying awake, on breathing, on not vomiting….

John nudged Dean and pointed with the gun. Dean didn't need it, he already saw the dark black figure that lurked among the trees. Silent, they watched it approach the deer. The warewolf staggered a little and couldn't walk in a straight line. It caught the scent of Dean and John and it's energy was renewed from the prospect of live prey.

John fired as he turned towards them, but it had little affect on the rage filled beast. Blood soaked the silver fur across its chest and ran from its open mouth. The warewolf aimed straight for Dean, the smaller of the two targets. Dean fired, but to no avail and the warewolf pounced on him. He was knocked back and both he and the wolf tumbled through the thick bushes and undergrowth.

"Dean!" John yelled.

Dean felt the claws dig into his chest and the pain that shot through his ribs. His breath was knocked from his lungs and he wasn't sure what happened. He could feel the warewolf's hot breath and the saliva that dripped from the eager fangs.

A gunshot rang close to Dean's head and he flinched. The warewolf fell limp on top of him. John pushed it off of his son and pulled Dean up to sitting.

"Dean, Dean are you all right?" John took his son's face in his hand.

Dean let the shock fade from his mind. "I'm okay." He breathed.

John saw the blood on Dean's shirt and the places the fabric had been shredded. "Did it bite you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Dean blinked the last of the shock and fear from his eyes and refocused. "Yes."

John helped his son up from the ground and led him back to the car. He leaned Dean up against the door as he pulled the first aid kid from the trunk. Dean's hands shook a little and he clenched his fists to still the movement.

"Let's see how bad it got you." John helped Dean pulled the shirt off.

Eight punctures extended down into short scratches. They were deep, but not deep enough for stitches. Dean got lucky. Bruises were already forming across his chest. John carefully touched the wounds and Dean sucked in air.

"Do your ribs feel broken?"

Dean shook his head. "Don't think so."

John cleaned the wounds. Dean's breath was shallow as the rubbing alcohol stung.

"It's good that thing was already injured, kept it from killing you." John stated, just to keep Dean's focus away from the wounds.

"Yeah, luck." He looked down and watched as John taped gauze over the wounds.

"We'll get it cleaned up better at home, get some drugs in you." He met John's eyes and smiled a little. "Maybe a shot or two of jack."

"Sounds good." He returned the smile.

John handed him a zip front sweatshirt and he pulled it on. Dean climbed into the car and leaned back against the seat. He was sore, exhausted and wanted nothing more than sleep. John eased the car back onto the road and headed home. The dark was starting to fade away to gray as the sun began its ascent into the sky.

John pulled up in front of the house and turned off the car. He looked over and saw that Dean had fallen asleep. He touched his son's shoulder. Dean started awake, still in hunt mode.

"We're home." John squeezed Dean's shoulder.

They climbed out of the car and trudged into the house. Dean sunk into a kitchen chair as John grabbed the larger first aid kit from the cupboard. John pulled down the bottle of Jakc Daniels and two shot glasses. He poured himself and Dean a drink. Dean dumped it down his throat. He unzipped his sweatshirt and shrugged it off.

Carefully John pulled the gauze from Dean's chest.


	4. Fear

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

/\-s-/\

John finished cleaning out the wounds, taped fresh gauze over Dean's chest and leaned back in the chair. He dumped two pain killers on the table and placed a glass of water next to them. Dean took them without hesitation.

"I'm going to check on Sam. You want to crash on the couch or take on the stairs?"

Dean looked up, for a moment he had forgotten that Sam was sick. The realization made him burn with guilt, how could he forget? He stood and followed John up the stairs. Both were exhausted, but that was instantly replaced by adrenaline when they saw the broken window and the blood on the floor.

Dean ran towards the room, but John grabbed his arm and held him back. "Dean, let me go first."

"But if Sammy…" He couldn't finish, what if something happened, what if Sammy wasn't okay.

John turned Dean around to face him. "You're injured and exhausted. I will go first. Wait in the doorway until I tell you otherwise? Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Dean breathed.

John stepped into the room and glanced back to make sure that Dean stayed where he was. John scanned the room. He saw that the salt around the closet door and the salt and gun missing from under the table. He resisted the urge to pull the closet door open. If Sammy was in there and scared, then opening the door would cause him to shoot. That was something that neither of them wanted.

John gently knocked on the closet door. "Sammy?" He knocked louder. "Sammy, it's dad."

Dean took a step into the room and John shot him a warning glance.

"Daddy?" Sam's voice broke and wasn't much louder than a whisper.

John turned back to the door, all he wanted to do was yank the door open and see his son. Rational thought took over the paternal impulse. "Sammy, I'm going to open the door. I want you to put the gun down, everything's okay." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "On the count of three. One, two, three."

Slowly John pulled the door open. Sam looked up at him with pain and fear spilling from his eyes, the gun on the floor at his side. John knelt down and pulled his boy to his chest.

He could feel Sam shake. "You're okay, everything's okay. I've got you, Sammy." He looked over at Dean. "Come here."

Dean was at his brother's side in a second. He gripped Sam's hand and met his little brother's terrified eyes.

"You're okay, Sammy." Dean whispered.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered. "I tried to-"

John cut him off. "You did perfect. I couldn't ask for more."

Sam looked over at Dean and saw the gauze. "Dean, you're hurt."

He smiled a little. "Just a scratch, I'm fine."

John noticed something warm and damp soaking through his shirt. He moved into the room with Sam still in his arms. His boy wouldn't have let go for anything.

"Dean, turn on the light." John whispered over Sam's shoulder.

Dean stood and flipped on the light. He ran back to his father and brother's side and winced as it jarred his ribs.

"Easy, Dean." John guided. "If you get upset, then it will only make him more scared. Step out and get a drink of water."

"Dad." Dean protested.

"I'm not asking, Dean." He turned back to Sam in his arms.

Dean stood and walked into the hall. He leaned against the wall for a few seconds before he went into the bathroom to get a drink.

"Sammy." John looked down at his son in his arms. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Sam swallowed, his relief covered everything else for the time. Now the pain and nausea came rocketing back. His bottom lip trembled slightly.

John leaned Sam back and saw the blood soaked shirt wrapped around his left arm. "Sammy, I'm going to set you on the floor."

"Don't leave." His voice broke.

"I'm not going anywhere, I just want to see your arm." He carefully unwrapped the shirt.

Sam winced as he pulled the cloth away. Some of the blood had dried and stuck to the wounds. It was all Sam could do to keep from crying like a baby. He focused on his breathing on not vomiting. John gently touched the wounds. They were deep and needed to be cleaned out, already they looked a little infected. That was the last thing Sammy needed.

John met his son's eyes. "Did it bite you?"

Sam didn't hear the question, he was too concerned with breathing and not being sick.

"Sam. I need you to focus." John's tone sharpened and Sam looked at him. "Were you bitten?"

"No." Sam whispered.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, his face pale and tear streaked.

"Okay." John's tone softened again. "You're okay, Sammy."

Dean came back into the room and saw the blood on Sam's arm as it ran from the gashes. John looked at him, a reminder to stay calm. Dean resisted running to his brother's side.

"Dean, get the first aid kit ready at the kitchen table. The light isn't good enough here." He stood and helped Sam to his feet.

Dean left the room. Sam wavered and would have fallen if not for John's steady hands. The change in position increased the nausea and he swallowed it back. John saw what little color Sam had, drain from his face. He picked up his son, something that the boy was almost too big for. He carried Sam down the stairs and gently placed him in one of the kitchen chairs.

Sam's shaking intensified as shock set in and his life preserving adrenaline burned out of his blood. He looked young and broken, something that nearly broke John's heart. He took a breath, he wouldn't be any use to his boy if he let emotion take over. Dean stood out of the way, unsure what he could do to help his little brother.

John sat down in front of his youngest. "How are you doing, Sam?" He stopped himself from saying 'Sammy', right now it had to be 'Sam'.

"I'm thirsty." Sam whispered.

"You can have something later. Right now I need you to help me." He needed Sam to believe that he was all right, that this was nothing more than a simple scrape.

Sam nodded and looked over at Dean.

"Dean's going to come over here and help, too." John met Sam's eyes. "I need you to listen and do exactly what I say. Can you do that?"

He nodded again and bit his bottom lip.

"I want you to say you will."

"I will." Sam whispered.

"Good." John took a few things from the first aid kit.

Sam watched with wide eyes. Dean knelt next to his brother's side. Sam reached over and took Dean's hand. Dean felt his little brother's fingers tighten around his own.

"Sam, you need to keep as still as you can." His eyes moved from Sam to Dean. "Dean, I need you to help him. You boys understand?"

"Yes, sir." They both answered, though Sam hardly whispered.


	5. Struggle

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

/\-s-/\

John gently took his son's arm. "This is going to hurt a little, Sam." His tone was neutral. "You'll be okay?"

Sam nodded.

"I know you will." He took an alcohol wipe and started by cleaning the blood away.

Dean stood at Sam's side, his little brother's fingers tight in his hand. Sam wanted to pull his injured arm away and hold it to his chest, to protect himself from more pain, but he sat still. He swallowed hard and shifted in the chair.

John looked up at Sam's face. "Dean, grab one of the ice cream pails from under the sink."

Dean pulled his hand from Sam's grip and went over to the sink.

"Sam, I need to stitch some of these up. You need to give me as much warning as you can if you're going to be sick. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He breathed.

Dean placed the ice cream pail in his brother's lap and stood behind him. He gripped Sam's shoulders both as restraint and as reassurance. Sam gripped the edge of the pail with his uninjured hand to keep it from shaking.

"Dean, ice packs from the freezer."

He went to the freezer and pulled out several ice packs, on his way back to the table he snagged a couple towels from the drawer. He handed them to John. He wrapped them in towels and placed them on Sam's arm.

He wrapped the last one and handed it to Dean. "For your ribs. Pull up a chair."

Dean did as he was told and sat just behind his brother. He rested on hand on Sam's shoulder and the other held the ice pack to his chest.

"I can't give you any pills for the pain right now, Sam. I don't think you'll be able to keep them down. So I'm going to numb your arm with ice. When I stitch up your arm, let me know if it starts to hurt too much. All right?"

Sam nodded, he thought that if he spoke he'd throw up again. He felt the burning pain in his arm fade and he relaxed a little.

John removed the ice packs and took a needle and thread. He met Sam's eyes for a moment.

"Ready?" The question was as much for Sam as it was for himself.

"Yes." Sam whispered even though he wanted to say no.

John worked quickly. He kept an eye on Sam, he knew that his boy wouldn't say anything unless he was past the point of pain. John didn't want him to suffer any more than necessary.

"Dad?" Sam's voice wavered.

John stopped and looked up. Sam's face was sheet white. He leaned forward and gagged. He spit stomach acid into the pail in his lap. John placed the ice packs back on Sam's arm and gripped his boy's shoulder.

"You're okay, Sammy." He was calm and that calmed his boys. "Don't worry, everything's all right."

Sam leaned back in the chair. Dean stood and rinsed out the pail without be asked to.

"Are you all right, now?" John met Sam's eyes.

Sam nodded and swallowed. Dean replaced the pail in Sam's lap and John finished up the stitches. He taped gauze around Sam's arm. The boy was passive with exhaustion and shock. His stomach churned and he just wanted to sleep. He had used all his energy dealing with the pain and fear. He struggled to stay awake.

John packed up the first aid kit and leaned forward. He took Sam's wrists and met his boy's exhausted eyes.

"You okay?"

Sam wanted to say yes, but he didn't even have the energy to lie.

"Do you want to try and keep down some water?"

He shrugged. Dean stood and filled a glass with water. He placed it on the table between Sam and John. Sam reached for it with a shaking hand and took a slow sip. The water hit his stomach like ice and he regretted risking it. He leaned forward over the pail with John steadying him as he gagged and brought up the water he just drank. Dean took the pail when he was sure that Sam wasn't going vomit again.

"It's okay, Sammy. Just calm down, just relax." John muttered in Sam's ear. "Nothing's going to hurt your any more, you're safe."

John moved forward and rested Sam's head against his shoulder. He carefully pulled the blood stained shirt from his son. He pulled Sam into his lap and held him.

"Did you g-get the warewolf?" Sam whispered.

John looked over at Dean. "Is that what got you?"

Sam nodded. "I sh-sh-shot it, it – it left." He was nearing hysterics.

"Shhhh." John soothed. "It's gone, Sammy. It won't hurt you any more. Just calm down, you're okay. Everything is okay." He felt Sam relax in his arms.

"Dean." John kept his voice low because he suspected that Sam had fallen asleep. "Head on upstairs, my room. Bring the pail and a couple of the ice packs with you, put fresh towels on them. I'll be there shortly."

Dean looked from his dad to his brother and nodded. He grabbed the pail and the ice and left the kitchen.

"Sammy?" John shifted and stood.

"Hmmm." Sam breathed, he struggled against sleep.

"I want you to get some sleep."

Sam shook his head slightly.

John stood with his boy in his arms. "Nothing's going to hurt you any more and you need to sleep. I won't let anything happen to you."

He carried Sam upstairs to his room and gently placed him on the bed. Dean sat on the opposite side of the bed. John pulled the blankets up over Sam's legs and placed one of the ice packs over the bandages on Sam's arm. Sam shifted and curled on his side a little. John placed the pail on the nightstand near Sam. Dean watched in detached exhaustion.

John looked up at Dean. "Get changed to sleep and come back here."

Dean slipped out of the room. John took a towel and spread it over the pillow under Sam's head. Dean returned a few minutes later in sweats and a beater. He sat on the edge of the bed.

John tossed him an ice pack. "Get some sleep here."

Dean looked over at his dad. "What?"

"I know that Sam will appreciate it and I have to clean the glass from your room."

He stretched out on the bed and folded one arm under his head. "Sam's the one that injured the warewolf." Dean whispered.

"Kept it from killing you." John brushed Sam's damp hair back.

"Could have killed him." Dean's voice broke slightly.

John met his eyes. "But it didn't. You're both okay, and that's all that matters. All right?"

Dean nodded. He couldn't fight sleep much longer. He drifted off and John glanced back at Sam.

"You did great, Sammy." He whispered.


	6. New Day

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

/\-s-/\

When John was sure that both his boys were sound asleep, he slipped from the room. He swept up the glass and mopped up the blood from the floor. He taped plastic over the window, he'd fix it in a day or two. He couldn't imagine how scared Sam must have been, and couldn't have been more proud of his son or more thankful that Sam wasn't taken from him. He heard the floorboard creak behind him and turned. Dean stood in the doorway, his hair was messed up from sleep and he looked half awake at best.

"Is everything okay?"

Dean stretched hesitantly and winced as his ribs reminded him that they were newly injured. "Sammy was sick again and he wondered where you went. He said he's thirsty."

"Go back to him, I'll be there in a sec."

Dean shuffled back to the room. John grabbed a glass of water from the bathroom and a damp washcloth. When he entered the room, Sam was sitting up with the pail in his lap. Dean had a grip on Sam's shoulder as his little brother continued to gag and spit. He was close to tears.

John set the water on the table and sat next to Sam. "You're okay, bud. Just relax."

Sam leaned against John's shoulder, exhausted. John placed the pail on the floor and handed the washcloth to Sam. He wiped his mouth and passed it back.

"How are you doing, Sammy?"

He shrugged. "Didn't know where you went."

John smiled to reassure him. "I'm right here." He followed Sam's eyes to the glass of water. "You want to try drinking something?"

Sam nodded.

John handed him the water. "Slow sips."

His hands shook as took a few small drinks. He passed the glass back and John set it on the table. Sam drifted back to sleep. John moved Sam back to the pillow and pulled the blanket up.

He looked over at Dean. "Let me see how your chest looks."

Dean carefully peeled the gauze from his wounds. Despite everything, they looked good. He pressed the gauze back down and slumped into the pillow.

"You should get some sleep, dad."

John shrugged. "I caught a couple hours while you boys were asleep. How do your ribs feel?"

"About like you'd expect them to."

John stood and left the room. He returned with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He handed Dean a couple and gave him the water. Dean took them without question and finished the water.

"Sleep some more."

Dean stretched out and was asleep within ten minutes. John moved to Sam's side and carefully checked under the bandages. The gashes didn't looked infected and they hadn't bled much since he stitched them up. He'd watch it closely for a few days, but there shouldn't be much to worry about.

Sam shifted with a sigh and his eyes opened.

John leaned forward. "You okay, Sammy?"

He nodded. "Sorry I got scared."

John gripped his son's hand. "Everybody gets scared, the only thing that matters is how you deal with the fear. You couldn't have done better."

"You don't get scared." Sam's fingers tightened around John's.

"I was terrified when I came home and couldn't find you."

Sam looked up into his dad's eyes. "Really?"

"I get scared. Dean too." He shrugged. "But sometimes you have to face the fear and push through it." He squeezed Sam's hand. "You do it all the time, Sammy, and I'm always amazed at you."

Sam felt himself blush and looked away.

"How's your arm?"

He shrugged. "Hurts."

"Do you think you could try and keep some pain medication down?"

Sam nodded. John handed him one pill and Sam swallowed it with a few drinks of water.

"Do you want to try eating something?"

He shook his head. "Not yet." He sighed and tried to stay awake.

John pulled the blanket up over Sam. He watched his youngest fall back asleep. Sam moved closer to Dean in his sleep, his head on his older brother's shoulder.

"You'd be so proud of him, Mary." He whispered. "Both of them."

--

Dean woke first. It took him a few minutes to remember why he was in his dad's room. As soon as he remembered, he looked over at saw Sam. He was curled on his side, his face free of pain or fear. Dean smelled bacon and realized how hungry he was. He slid off the bed without waking Sam and grabbed a shirt from his room. He pulled it on and walked down to the kitchen.

John stood at the stove, a plate of pancakes and bacon at his side.

"I'm starving." Dean sat down at the table.

John turned with a smile. "I'm not your waiter, you have legs."

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed a plate. He covered everything in syrup and sat down. He ate in a way that was almost indecent, even for a teenage boy.

"How's your brother?"

"Asleep." He answered with his mouth full.

John sat down at the table with a plate of his own. They didn't talk about what happened, it was over and everyone was all right. Dean grabbed seconds and John smiled. John looked up and saw Sam in the doorway. He was still pale and his eyes a little glassy. It was obvious that he still didn't feel a hundred percent. He moved cautiously, afraid that moving too quick would bring back the nausea and pain.

"How do you feel, Sammy?"

He shrugged and sat down next to Dean. "Better, I guess."

John stood and put a couple pieces of bread in the toaster. When they popped up he placed them in front of Sam with a small glass of apple juice. Sam looked at it with slight trepidation and took a small bite of toast. It had been nearly two straight days that he had attempted to eat anything and he wasn't exactly hungry.

Dean looked over at him. "Does this mean that you're well enough for me to kick your ass now?"

Sam smiled and took a drink of juice. "Maybe once I'm eating real food."

"Bread is real food." Dean pointed out.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Jerk."

"Dork."

John smiled at his boys and poured himself more coffee.

"And juice, juice is real food." Dean continued.

Sam balled up his napkin and threw it at Dean.

"I don't know if you want to start that." He smirked.

"Start what?" Sam gave him his best innocent look and smiled.

And despite everything that had happened, and the nights yet to come where Sam would wake from a nightmare that involved warewolves coming through his window; everything was all right. All three of them were all right and they could pretend for a little while, something they all needed to do every now and then.


End file.
